by Nina Post
Stheno cleaned up in the restroom and put on the cargo pants, pink t-shirt with a big rhinestone beetle on the front, and multicolor graffiti sneakers she’d taken from Medusa’s apartment.
Both Gorgon sisters put on plastic gloves, hairnets, and aprons. Their snakes went to sleep under the hairnets, like birds in a covered cage, and they worked in strained silence over the back-up countertop fryer.
“We should do cake donuts,” Medusa said, without looking at her sister. “We can just mix them and use the donut robot to put them right into the fryer. Less fuss.”
“Fine. But won’t your customers resent the change?”
Medusa smiled. “I make both with the Super-Fryer, and they’ll be just as good.” She used Archie’s antidote-laced Cluck Snack Dry Mix to mix new batches of dough using a vertical mixer with a paddle beater, and put the dough aside to rest.
“It’s a good thing you have the equipment for cake donuts, too,” Stheno said.
“I wanted to cover all the bases,” Medusa said. “I had to go to so much trouble to get a Mark 90 Super-Fryer: research, a bank loan, some private funding―”
“Archie?” Stheno guessed.
“Archie, yes, and a local bank. It made me nervous. What if something happened to it? I would go out of business because I had only one expensive fryer that required a specialist technician, of which there are only five, and used all my cash to repair it. Why stake the future of my donut shop on one machine, when I could easily afford a backup? It’s just asking for trouble.”
Stheno smirked. “Like your fancy Super-Fryer turning into a portal to the demonic underworld?”
“Shut up.”
“Welcome to a special episode of What’s On Your Mind, With Roger Balbi. I’m Roger Balbi. Our special guests today are the demons emerging out of the Mark 90 Super-Fryer you see in the studio.”
Roger swiveled his torso to gesture at the large floor fryer behind him. He faced the camera, leaned into it, and cupped a hand around his mouth. “Let’s hope our guests don’t eat me while I’m doing the show.”
He winked, took a just-emerged demon by the arm, and pulled it in front of the camera. It had swamp-green eyes with elongated reptile pupils and a crazed, wide-eyed expression. The demon’s erratically-placed, multi-rowed teeth were set in an elongated mouth that hung slackly open and salivated black lava-like material that burned pancake-sized holes on the carpet.
“What’s your name?” Roger asked, putting the mic as far as away as possible from the demon while still registering the sound.
“Roahrr!”
“And where do you think you are, uh, Roahrr?” Roger dared to step a little closer.
The demon stared at Roger with lidless lizard eyes the size of billiard balls. A dime-sized dropping of black lava dripped out of the demon’s lower jaw and landed on Roger’s shoe. It sizzled and burned through the leather. Roger yelped and kicked off his shoe.
“How about this gentleman over here?” Roger pulled over a squat, pudgy demon with curling horns and a broad, maniacally grinning face.
“Do you know each other?” Roger stood between the demons. Tiny flying demons zipped around the studio like Jurassic-era bugs. The squat demon made a happy snarling noise bespeaking his keen interest in eating one of the flying things, snatched one out of the air, and crammed it in his jaws. The bug’s wing stuck out of the demon’s mouth as he chewed.
Kelly waved frantically in the window. Roger smiled at the camera. “Moving on, let’s watch a video clip from Japan of a hedgehog getting onto a bus and scanning his transit card.”
He opened the studio door and Kelly rushed in and whispered in his ear.
Roger turned to the camera. “Now, I’d like to introduce a very special guest, the Director of Operations at Clucking Along Holdings, Hamlet Gonzalez.”
Hamlet cleared his throat. Kelly nodded at him and he looked directly at the camera.
“I have an important announcement for residents of Pothole City. We at Clucking Along Holdings are dismayed to report that a batch of our Cluck Snack Dry Mix has been compromised. Please do not eat any Cluck Snack products until I have announced that it is safe to do so. In the meantime, we will be distributing Pothole City Donuts free to all residents. These donuts will contain a counteracting serum, so please take advantage of this offer. Clucking Along Holdings humbly thanks you for your support. We will fix this.”
Roger took back the microphone. “Thank you, Mr. Gonzalez. Stay tuned to What’s On Your Mind, With Roger Balbi for continuous updates on the Cluck Snack situation.”
Hamlet leaned over and whispered something in Roger’s ear.
“In fact,” Roger continued, “we are designating this show as the official communication channel devoted to the Cluck Snack contamination, and we’ll be taking calls from any concerned citizens out there. Now, a clip we dug up from the archives: an interview with a disco ball maker who supplied the disco needs of Pothole City way back when. And remember: Friendship is the best amenity of all.”
The camera operator signaled they were clear.
Roger let out a breath and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “I need you to help me move this fryer to the roof. I can’t deal with this anymore. It’s affecting me on a gastrointestinal level and I have to work tomorrow.”
Kelly wheeled Medusa’s Mark 90 Super-Fryer, covered ineffectually with a tarp, out of the studio and into the cargo elevator by itself. She reached inside from the hallway and pressed the button for the top floor.
The doors closed and the elevator went upwards.
Kelly, Roger, Hamlet, and the camera operator took the other working high-rise elevator to the top, retrieved the Super-Fryer, and pushed it out to the middle of the cold, snowy roof. The freezing wind pushed against them and billowed under the tarp.
She lifted the tarp. “Oh, crap.”
Hamlet panicked. “What uh-oh? What is it?”
“Nothing.” She let the tarp fall back on the yawning mouth of the demon underworld. “Just, maybe we shouldn’t stand so close to it.”
“At least it’s not windy,” Roger said. “Let’s hook up the equipment.”
Roger and the camera operator hooked up the TV equipment they needed for the broadcast.
“OK, turn it on,” Roger said to the operator.
“It is on,” the operator said.
“Then why isn’t it working?”
“My sensor equipment tells me that the cabling is dead,” the operator said. “Or isn’t there.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look, Pothole City is still rebuilding. There are going to be problems.”
“We don’t have time for problems.”
“There’s nothing I can do. We can’t broadcast until we get the cables fixed.”
She put up a hand. “Hold on. I have an idea.”
Af ate everything he could get in the Amenity Tower automat. He needed the energy to change into his angel of destruction form, so he wouldn’t get too hungry later and attack something large, like a police horse.
“Af, how many times do we have to apologize?” Raum said.
“There’s really no end,” Af said, taking large forkfuls of a slice of chocolate cake. “So I’d say every single time you see me in the building.”
Af now had all of his food on a table: raisin toast, sandwiches, pudding, and various cake slices.
“In fact, we’re not friends anymore,” Af said through food in his mouth.
“What? Buddy. Don’t say that. C’mon!”
Af took a long gulp of a milkshake and leveled a cold stare at Raum. “You willingly poisoned the SPs, who keep the delicate balance of the universe.” He swallowed cake and took another sip of chocolate milk. “Who protect all species, and whom Kelly takes care of. And why? Because the Destroying Angel of the Apocalypse asked you to?”
“No, he paid us,” Raum said.
“Oh, that’s OK then.”
Raum clapped his hands together. “Excellent. I’m
glad you came around to―”
“I’m being ironic. What do you even need money for?”
Raum shrugged. “Donuts.”
“That’s it.” Af held up a fork, and used it to take some pudding. “Let me eat in peace.”
Raum opened his mouth to say something and Af pointed the fork at him. After a moment, Raum finally left.
After his eating frenzy, Af went to Pothole City Donuts to pick up all of the donuts the Gorgon sisters had made so far. Medusa handed him box after box after box of a baker’s dozen donuts. He almost didn’t recognize Stheno in comfortable clothes and a hairnet.
Medusa seemed strained and anxious, like it was exhausting to deal with her sister. “We’re still making ‘em. It’s not nearly the production capacity I’m used to, but it’s something.”
Af put the donuts on a stainless steel table and carefully opened the top box. “May I?”
Medusa made a ‘be my guest’ gesture and Af bit into one of the donuts. It was rich but light, with a delicate but intensely flavored glaze of peanut butter banana. He closed his eyes as he chewed. Sure, he had attacked the food in the automat just minutes before, but he could eat fifty of Medusa’s donuts.
“Wow,” he said, pleasure lighting up his face. “These are amazing.”
Medusa grinned. “Thanks. It was a team effort.”
Af’s mouth quirked with skepticism.
“Really,” she said. “So, you’re coming back soon to pick up more?”
“As soon as I’m out of these.” Af closed the top box. “Um, I need to… change. Before I leave the building.”
Medusa took a few seconds to realize what he said. “Oh! Right.” She turned around and went back to the small fryer.
Af turned into his angel of destruction form, already hungry from the transformation. He racked another five donuts on a claw and devoured all of them at once, before sneaking a guilty look at Medusa, who had her back turned. He picked up the stacks of boxes in his arms and pushed open the door.
As he soared into the sky, he felt the urge, as he always did in this form, to just keep going. The previous time he turned, he restrained everything inside him compelling him to go far, go fast, and lay down any wrath tasked to him.
But monsters were attacking the city, demons were emerging from the underworld, and the SPs were off their posts. Making sure Kelly safely reached Amenity Tower to get the SPs back on their jobs had been his priority the first time Pothole City was destroyed, and remained so this time.
Af dropped boxes of donuts into clusters of excited monsters. He swooped by the big ones, the monsters that had eaten contaminated donuts and grown to a massive size, and threw donuts in between their jaws as they roared at him. He could only cover a smallish local area, but he distributed more than a hundred donuts by the time he finished.
Stringfellow Hawk was in the “where is all this mucous coming from” stage of the flu, and became violently resentful of his bed, which he never wanted to see again. He had already ordered new pillowcases, which he used as sheets, and considering buying a whole new bed―and maybe moving his bedroom.
He crawled to the sofa in the living room by the big window that overlooked the alley and the snowy day. He settled in and put on the first season of What’s On Your Mind, With Roger Balbi, but only made it through half an episode when he received a text.
need you to check tv cables under amenity tower asap. You are the only one who can do this. -K
He growled, coughed, and blew his nose. He wasn’t happy about Kelly’s “request”―his sneezing never stopped, he went through a tissue a minute, and his whole body felt like someone dropped a tire on him―but he got off the sofa. He used eye drops. He cleaned his ears. He put on his work jacket with the embedded microchip, tied on his trapper hat, and put on his rubber-soled shoes.
It pleased him to use his natural burrowing talents to run television cables underground and analyze damage, even though he looked and felt like hell and would probably die down there. At least he’d go out an honest worker.
On his way out the door, he got a text.
Where are you? he received.
drinking absinthe at mahjong tournament, what do u think?
Meet on roof at AT, he received.
The mucous that ran nonstop from Stringfellow’s nose froze, and he had to breathe through his mouth. He scuttled down alleys and along buildings, going fast because if he slowed down he would just freeze to death, and who cared about a stiff, mucous-encrusted ferret in a blue-collar work jacket on the sidewalk? Nobody. At best, he would be partially eaten by a flying monster badger.
Finally, after what felt like a week, he scuttled through the side door of Amenity Tower when a gelatinous and haughty green slug dressed in a fur parka and hat went out.
“Elysia!” A giant water scorpion, dressed in a black uniform shirt that read Tom, frantically ran up to the door.
Stringfellow halted at Tom’s legs to observe.
“Wait!”
The slug paused but didn’t turn. Stringfellow thought she was a lovely shade of jade.
“I can change! We can make this work!” Tom yelled.
The slug gave off the impression of tossing her head, then continued down the walkway. Tom slumped and blew out a little air, and went back into Amenity Tower.
Stringfellow lingered for a moment in the warm hallway to thaw, and scurried on to the elevator, where he collapsed, the granite cool against his back.
“Rough day? Me too.” Tom used one arm to go over Stringfellow with a warm blow dryer, another to offer him a Cluck Snack P’nut Butt’r Chunk, and another pair to hold and strum a ukulele. “Let’s gather in the common areas and share our common hopes and dreams…” Tom’s voice caught in a tiny sob at the end, and he took a moment to recover. “Which floor for you?”
Stringfellow pointed a paw upward. Tom considered this gesture for a moment, then said, “We’ll start at the top and work our way down from there.”
The elevator stopped at the top floor and Tom gently took him, splayed helplessly on the floor, and placed him on the floor outside the cab.
“Good luck to you,” Tom said, and the elevator went down again.
Stringfellow wheezed for a minute, dazed, and made his way up to the refreshingly cold roof.
“There you are,” Roger said to Stringfellow, who shot an accusing glare at Kelly. “Thrilled you can assist. The problem is, What’s On Your Mind, With Roger Balbi normally doesn’t broadcast outside the building. To reach the larger community, we need some kind of interconnected cable to the broadcast tower that was recently re-constructed.”
Roger gestured to the tower a few blocks away. “So we can keep all of Pothole City’s residents informed about the Cluck Snack contamination.”
Stringfellow vaguely recalled eating a Cluck Snack P’nut Butt’r Chunk in the elevator.
what cluck snack contamination? He texted Kelly.
“I’m going to go get you a donut.” She gave Stringfellow a quick smile and went to the stairwell. “I’ll take you down to the ground floor, and you can get under the building from there, right?”
Stringfellow coughed and listed to one side, eyes closed. She picked him up and put him in her jacket.
edusa looked pained. “You’re over-mixing.”
Stheno’s snakes awakened and made a whispering sound. “I am not.”
“Just… don’t be so hard on the batter, please.” Medusa turned back to her workstation where she made flavored glazes, but kept flitting her gaze to Stheno’s hands.
“I need to make sure the antidote really gets in there,” Stheno said, a defensive tone in her voice.
“No one’s going to eat them if they’re heavy and dense. As soon the antidote disappears into the dough, stop mixing or it will get tough and cause problems with the cutter later.”
Stheno raised her hands like she had been busted by the police for mixing. She dropped her arms then started to put the dough in the cutter.
“What are you doing?” Medusa planted her hand on her hip.
“Putting the dough into the cutter, what the hell do you think I’m doing?”
Medusa chewed on her bottom lip with the tips of her painted fangs. “Not to be pedantic, but you need to let the dough sit for just a little while.”
Stheno gave Medusa a withering look. “Why?”
“Same thing―it could cause problems later in production.”
Stheno stripped off her gloves and slapped them onto the work surface. “You always do things right, don’t you? It must be nice to not be a constant disappointment to our parents. It must be nice to be the pretty one, the more creative one, the more likeable one. It must be nice to have a relationship with a man who genuinely values you.”
“What are you talking about?” Medusa put her hands on her hips.
Stheno shook her head as though Medusa could never possibly understand, snapped on a new pair of gloves, and started to adjust the cutter head to be closer to the fryer.
“Whoa, what are you doing now?” Medusa pressed her wrists to her temples.
“Moving this closer so the donuts fry faster.” Stheno’s tone said, “Duh.”
Medusa went over to Stheno’s station. “That sounds like a good idea in theory, but the heat from the frying fats will overheat the cutter head, and the donuts will come out with a crust on them.”
“Fine!” Stheno moved the cutter head away from the fryer. “You know everything.”
“No,” Medusa said.
“No what?”
“The cutter’s too far.”
“Are you kidding me?” Stheno kept her hand on the cutter head.
“The oil will splash when the donuts drop from the cutter,” Medusa said.
Stheno moved the cutter back to where it was originally, with a deliberately slow motion. “How’s that? Is that perfect enough for mommy and daddy’s little angel?”
“No. I like to have it at 1.3 inches.” Medusa ignored Stheno, took a small ruler from her apron, and measured the distance from the cutter head to the frying surface.